What about it?
by Crazycatscarmen
Summary: Hey guys! I just wrote this because...I can. Summary: Stan still doesn't remember Ford, and Ford was thinking too much until suddenly something happens? It's angsty, but like light? It's also fluff? Idk it's not a tear jerker...yet. XD don't die guys! Wrote this on my phone, so if it isn't consistent I apologize.


**Hey guys! I come with...more random stuff! I hope this doesn't suck :P. Tw: because ∆ but only in mention, I just don't like him. No real trigger warnings though? XD idk, enjoy!**

* * *

Summer had ended.

The leaves fell in beautiful swirls to the ground, riding on the wind a few feet away from their home tree before settling on the cold earth. And even as they sat, the very air was becoming chilled with the bite of a winter cold.

Autumn had finally come.

Stanford sighed in content as he sat outside the Shack, the wind ruffling his already unruly grey hair. The cool breeze soothing his aching bones. He moved his hands toward his neck, digging beneath the wool of his sweater to pull at the bandages there. Although the wounds were healing, they still required attention. He mentally groaned whenever he thought about the scarring he would carry with him for the rest of his life.

Surely, they weren't as embarrassing as the tattoos, but they still only furthered his resolve to never remove his sweater. He didn't need anyone, especially Stanley finding out. He couldn't be sure of what Stan would do if he did. Bill had already been defeated once, what else could his brother do about it?

Stanford smiled as he thought about his easily enraged brother. Stanley was as protective as Stanford was determined. It was something Stanford admired about his twin now, something he had overlooked the years before. His mind mulled over the facsinating anecdotes of his family's adventures as he leaned back on the couch, watching the leaves fall.

They had done so much before he'd returned. Just the highlights being more than unbelievable, if it weren't for the fact that Stanford himself knew (and had even discovered, being his preferred branch of study was that of the paranormal) that zombies, ghosts, and pterodactyl's existed, he might've scoffed at it, calling them the stories created by a child's imagination, aided by a con-man's spinning of words.

Of course, even though they were the truth, Stanley's version's seemed to shift from day to day. Even being honest, he'd never been good at keeping to the facts. Stanford chuckled at the thought. He supposed the trickster's silver tongue had been hereditary. He recalled the days and even nights his mother spent on the phone, making up futures and predictions that were based more on guesswork than on premonitions or dreams.

Having gotten lost in thought, Stanford jumped in surprise when he realized Stanley had come to join him on the couch.

"Stanley! When did you get here?" Ford's voice had gone a note higher from the shock and he coughed to cover it up, "I mean, is there something wrong?" He finished, his hands falling in his lap.

Stanley had been doing well recovering his memories, even going so far as to come to them whenever he recalled anything that hadn't been in the scrapbook. Now that the kids had gone back to California, he came to Stanford with these re-discoveries, and broken up memories. Stanford was overjoyed at the prospect of helping his brother...yet his heart ached.

Stanley didn't remember him.

Stanford knew that Stanley cared for him, yet Stanley had admitted he couldn't remember _why_ he cared. It was as if Stanley's heart had retained the love and devotion he had to his family, but his mind had repressed the memories behind it all.

Stanley felt he had a brother- he just couldn't remember him.

So Stanford stayed with his twin who looked at him and saw Stanford pines, ph.d. Not Stanford pines, the stupid genuis twin.

Stan smiled at him and cleared his throat, leaning forward on the edge of the couch, as if uncomfortable. "Sorry, didn't mean ta scare ya." He stated, turning to staring out into the open lawn.

Ford shook his head. "It's alright, Stanley. I was just thinking." Ford watched Stan closely. Was Stanley nervous? He had gotten better at reading his twin's tells now that Stan rarely tried to hide his thoughts anymore, seeing as anything was important in bringing back the completion of his memories.

Stan laughed once, smirking slightly as he watched the trees bend in the wind. "Heh, aren't you always?"

Ford rolled his eyes before smirking. "Touché."

"Is that french or what? I never really got that word."

"It means to acknowledge a good or clever point made by another in a conversation, or, the original definition-"

Stan snorted as he glanced over at Ford. "Nerd."

Ford cut off his ramble, as if the air had been stolen from his lungs. He went silent for a moment as his mind flashed to the old days, of playful banter and dreams told and untold, covering them both like a reassuring blanket.

They had changed so much.

Yet Stan was _still_ Stanley.

"Heya...Stanford?"

Stan's voice was coloured with concern, and Ford just shook his head at him and coughed into his fist once as he snapped out of it. "I apologize, Stanley... I'm just caught up in my thoughts-" Ford's eyes flickered to the amused look on Stan's face and he laughed once, but the sound of it was tired.

"Caught up in my thoughts _more_ than usual today." Ford corrected.

Stan snickered, finally relaxing into the back of the couch. "Do you always come out here to think too much?" He asked, reaching his arm behind him to pull out a soda from behind the sofa. Stan had apparently hidden away sodas the same way he had the ten guns he claimed to have, and the bats that seemed to be everywhere. Ford had to admit, that if Stan had taken his journal all those years ago and hidden it, then it would've been even harder to find than the third one that Ford had taken so much effort into hiding in the forest.

Even so, the hidden soda cans had become almost a game, of who could find them first, seeing as how Stanley couldn't recall where they were. Although, he did usually ended up finding them first anyway, seeing as how Stan just had to look in the spots he thought were good, and pre- amnesiatic Stan almost always agreed with the Stan now.

It made sense, really. Stan was still Stan, he just couldn't remember how he'd become who he was. It was just like how he would die for anyone in his family, even though he could only recall bits and pieces of that summer.

Ford's lips twitched into a small smile.

"No, not generally. I'm mostly enjoying the weather." He sighed, chuckling softly. "It's a relief after an entire summer of heat."

Stan laughed with him as he popped open the tab and reached back to find another soda for Ford. "I can imagine! You and Mabel- why do you wear those sweater's year round!? I'm surprised neither of you collapsed from heat stroke!" Stan tossed the can to Ford and Ford caught it with one hand, barely glancing at it as he tapped it open.

He could feel his chest tightening with irrational fear. Stanley still didn't know about what Bill had-

And anyway, he wasn't sure he would ever want to tell anyone about his tattoos. Especially not Mabel, who would probably explode into glitter if she knew he had a star inked into his neck. {It wasn't even related to the cosmos- it had a face and smiled at you, saying "I'm an all star!" In shimmering text. He hated it, and blamed it entirely on Bill, despite the fact that Bill hadn't been in control of him while he'd gotten it.}

He let his smile widen in defence of the choking feeling in his throat and lungs.

Stanley really didn't need to know.

Ford finally shrugged. "They're practical." He stated. It wasn't a lie, they had many uses and came in handy out in the multi-verse.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Still doesn't explain Mabel's infatuation with 'em."

Ford chuckled as the tension in his chest eased slightly. "She's a mystery. You know..." Ford laughed. "After I first returned home, I ran a few tests on the people here, including Dipper and Mabel." Ford's brow furrowed slightly as he thought.

"I told her to open up and say 'ah.'" Ford snorted. "She screamed for an entire minute and then coughed up glitter."

Stan stared at him blankly for a moment before bursting out into loud laughter. "Ya- and she!" Stan chuckled breathlessly and shook his head. "I mean, I knew they were weird, but she really did that?"

Ford nodded, trying to keep from laughter himself. "I wasn't sure this wasn't a parrelell universe and she wasn't some sort of glitter creature! In fact, I still don't know where she gets it all!" Ford flailed his hands, the soda sloshing within the can and he took a moment long enough to drink from it before setting it down with an amused huff. Stan was still laughing.

"Eso es hilarante, Poindexter!" Stan huffed as he leaned back again.

Ford jerked his head toward Stan and stared at him for a moment, wondering if Stanley, who was staring at the leaves in content, realized he had just spoken Spanish.

"Um, Stanley?"

"Eh?"

"What did you just say?" Ford asked. He blinked, his brows coming together in concern as Stan repeated himself in Spanish.

"Eso es hilarante?" Stan turned to him in confusion. "Qué tal?" He seemed to ask. Ford leaned in closer, glaring at Stan through his cracked glasses in concern.

"Stan. You're speaking Spanish." Ford stated, adjusting his glasses as he watched Stan shake his head.

"Qué!?"

Ford pulled out a penlight from his coat pocket and clicked it on, shining it into Stan's eyes. Stan flinched away from the light and Ford growled at him.

"Stanley stay still. Have you hit your head recently? You might have a concussion." Stan shook his head as Ford held his shoulder to keep him still as he checked both eyes, watching the pupils contract.

Ford knew this was probably a side effect of the memory gun, but Stanley had gone for so long without any real symptoms, that it seemed more than reasonable that it might be something else that had caused Stanley to...since when did Stan speak Spanish!?

Ford released his grasp and Stan seemed to sigh in relief.

"Espero que puedas resolver esto porque me está volviendo loco y todavía necesito decirte algo, Sixer."

Ford blinked uncomprehendingly at Stan.

"I have _no_ idea what you just said, but I promise I'm- _we_ are going to figure this out."

Stanford pocketed the penlight again and muttered beneath his breath, "At least you don't seem to have a concussion. That would be...a simpler conclusion, but no less annoying to deal with." Ford huffed and ran a hand over his face, looking Stan in the eyes.

"You can understand me still, correct?"

Stan nodded, but his face was growing more and more anxious the longer they sat there. He barked something in Spanish and Ford sighed in aggravation.

"Stanley, I speak many languages, but Spanish is not one of them. Just...sit tight?" Ford stood up again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Actually, I'm going to go call Fiddleford. He knows Spanish, or, at least, he _did_." Ford turned to walk into the house, before glancing at Stan.

"Just, um. Stay. There." Ford blinked at the unamused look on Stan's face and he quickly stepped into the house. He needed to make a phone call.

* * *

 **Ford *screaming* : STANLEY!**

 **Stan: what?**

 **Ford: Help, my face is on fire!**

 **Stan: You can shave by yourself, sixer.**

 **Ford *walks in dripping wet* *growls* : I wasn't shaving.**

 **Stan *laughing* :oops.**

 ***Translations***

 **1\. That's hilarious, Poindexter! That's hilarious?**

 **2\. What about it?**

 **3\. What!?**

 **4\. I hope you figure this out soon, because this is freaking me out and I still need to tell you something, sixer.**


End file.
